Time

It’s been too long, I know. I’ll try to explain that sometime, but not now.

Right now it’s 3 years and I need to clear my thoughts a bit. I need room to breath and I don’t really have that right now. The 17th is his death date, but tonight will always be the night it happened for me.

I’ve stayed busy all day. Really busy. I only looked at the clock as I zipped around the kitchen making dinner to ensure we ate before Tony’s band concert. I didn’t want to have time to think. I wanted to convince myself that 3 years was enough time to not still have the wind knocked out of me.

I was wrong.

We gathered the kids for family song and prayer before bed tonight and I caught a glimpse of the clock as the bedtime protests began.

8:21

It was all just beginning. Brig was just buckling him in his car seat after he coughed in his sleep and we saw fresh blood.

8:55

We’re both betting strapped to the gurney for transfer across town to get to the OR asap to control his post op bleed.

9:20

We’re waiting in the second ER, reviewing everything with doctors and nurses.

There always seems to be a part of my mind replaying that night at any given time, but today it’s always worse. It’s not as noticeable on a daily basis as it once was, but it’s still there.  I once had someone ask me about that night and when I was through sharing he said, “Wow! I think I get it a little bit now. I’ve heard your story, but I just realized as I watched and listened to you now. You weren’t talking to me. You were narrating for me. I could see in your eyes that everything was playing out again in your mind and it was like you were right back there, living it all over again. You don’t just recall snippets or pieces. The entire night plays out moment by moment in your memory, doesn’t it?”.

Yes. Yes it does.

In an hour, Caleb will be in full cardiac arrest and will never wake up again. I held him against my chest, stroked his hair, put my cheek to his abnormally cool head, and promised him everything would be okay. I promised him things would get fixed. I sang him his favorite lullabies. I stared into those big blues until they didn’t open anymore. I heard his code called over the intercom and saw the flurry of activity as we followed the house manager to the OR hallway.

And there I sat, screamed, cried, prayed, pleaded, and bargained while he died behind the doors.

The next 5 days weren’t days, but that stretch where time stood still. And then I was making funeral arrangements, getting information about his organ recipients, and telling my children that their baby brother wasn’t coming home with us.

3 years.

He never turned 3. It’s so strange to think that this month marks him being dead longer than he lived. It seems like ages ago and yesterday all at the same time.

Sharon Eubank is a leader within my church and she shared this on Facebook today:

There is a verse in Isaiah that says part of the mission of the Messiah is “to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning.”

Although we mourn our losses, especially at Christmas, the heart of the work of Jesus Christ is to give us beauty for ashes, to build up the waste places. This is also an important and beautiful part of the spirit of Christmas. When our hearts are too heavy to participate in the lights and toys and music, we can offer our ashes to the Lord Jesus Christ, and He accepts that gift too.

 

Today, I hugged my lovies a little longer. I snuggled bitty girl a little more. The burning in my chest has been a little bit hotter, but I kept breathing, I kept living. My ability to adapt and adjust got a little bit stronger.

Why?

Because Caleb Is Alive In Me and so is Jesus Christ.

-Forever Caleb’s Mom, JenelleIMG_6797

3 thoughts on “Time

  1. I cannot imagine all your family has gone through. I know God is with you and feels your pain. I know Caleb is in heaven waiting for the day you join him and that he is alive in you.
    I remember your Bub and his smile and how brightly he lit up a room. My prayers are with your family always, but especially in the coming days.

    Like

  2. Thank you so much for sharing your story, your family’s extreme tribulation, and your real healing. My story is different, but there are so many parallels that I feel I’ve walked that path too. I’m looking forward to knowing you and your family as we all heal. ~Andy

    Like

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